looked into you
a stranger who comes up slowly
I color with magic markers the darkness in your eye
make it as pretty as you wished
hide it all away
I sleep each night inches away
from your slow walking fear
as you toy with silk strewn lusts
sweet asylum that is never too close

I looked to you but could not be seen
so a lament came to my wicked lips
mumbled a carpet of apologies
spread out 'neath your feet
as you dip one toe into the waters
you called me
but when I looked to you
you looked away

there is a ship that sails tonight
I can see us on it
we wave bye-bye in slow motion capture
I can see the joy in your eye
dance cheek to cheek under the moonlight
shine cause I know you like to touch dreams
breathe for me girl
just keep dancing 'neath starry sky
ill crash your dark weddings
catch your tears before they can fall
be waiting on your morning doorstep
look into you
just for you
not that someone
in a dark wedding day

Maybe what I need
is to stay awake long enough
to watch the sunset again.
But don't pity me, please.
I'm just "lonely;"
It's the teacher I can always look up to.
It thickens the skin and deepens the thoughts.
It reminds me why I enjoy the sound
of a stranger's laugh,
and presses me to admit that
I miss being touched.
Lonely looks a lot like a harvested cotton field,
and if you inhale the air as you drive by,
you'd know exactly how to describe
the smell of neglect.
Lonely proclaims that something empty
is just as beautiful, because you can see through it;
it can only tell the truth.
Maybe what I need
is to stay awake long enough
to watch the sunset again;
to learn that its lonely goodnight
is the most beautiful painting
the whole world gets to witness.

trapped beneath a fitted rubber sheet
a lump in the mattress
suffocating on
rancid latex sweat
and yesterday's dried fluids

who were they
the nameless in the dark
this one smelled of popcorn
that on howled in delight

a collage of senseless noise
scented by cats and Ajax
leftovers always go bad

Chuck-will's-widow
in the tree by the window
it must be after midnight

though noon looks the same
in this cage that gives just enough
to torture with possibilities
of breaking free

freedom is overrated
roses stain glass
with the bloodletting
of thorny mishaps

blurred by smeared wounds
ain't life grand
when love ceases to be a goal

how can one find what is
utterly indefinable
if it cannot be decisively named
it cannot be concretely attained

then again, love's fluidity
is its charm
no hard edges
ebbing and flowing
elusive and longing

**** me latex blind
unseen and used
by those who never did mind
a lumpy mattress